


give me a memory i can use

by bicaptains



Series: like lovers do [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Forced Orgasm, Good BDSM Etiquette, Id Fic, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sub Bucky Barnes, a hella big praise kink, a small bit of ableism on bucky's part, authority kink, handjobs, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-01-20 14:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicaptains/pseuds/bicaptains
Summary: Bucky almost doesn’t show up. It’s really more expensive than he can afford, and Natasha would almost definitely ask too many questions. And showing up at a Brooklyn apartment, alone and unarmed, to pay a stranger for sex, is not just a bad idea. It’s illegal. And yet he can’t quite talk himself into turning away. Maybe it’s because he’s desperate, in more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first solo post on AO3! Many thanks to [shxrirogers](http://shxrirogers.tumblr.com) and [progressivelyaggressivecap](http://progressivelyaggressivecap.tumblr.com) on tumblr for their help beta reading.

Bucky almost doesn’t show up. It’s really more expensive than he can afford, and Natasha would almost definitely ask too many questions. And showing up at a Brooklyn apartment, alone and unarmed, to pay a stranger for sex, is not just a bad idea. It’s illegal. And yet he can’t quite talk himself into turning away. Maybe it’s because he’s desperate, in more ways than one.

That’s how he ends up on the third floor of a Brooklyn walk up, staring at his phone again. Natasha’s text simply reads, captsgrogers@gmail.com. The email thread he’s been exchanging with a stranger for approximately a week has actually made him blush at times, despite his belief that such blushing should be impossible by a grown man. But Steve, as his signature read, has been incredibly thorough. The paperwork has been extensive. That only reassures Bucky. Clearly, this guy isn’t just messing around. The forms cover any kinks he has, doesn’t have, or might ever consider having. 

And the price per session… Steve sure as hell is not messing around. 

Yet when Steve swings open the door, wearing a friendly grin, a grey tee shirt, and sweatpants, Bucky is breathless. He can’t be sure if it it’s the beginning of a panic attack he’d worked himself up to, or just shock at how gorgeous he is. Blue eyes, blonde hair, more muscles than anyone would ever deem fair. (No wonder he cost so much. He’s Barbie’s Dream Dom.)

“Hi, I’m Steve. You must be Bucky.” 

 

* * *

The nightmares were the worst part. He woke up breathless, heaving, the weight of sixteen tons of dust on his chest. He could never remember exactly what he'd been dreaming, but he woke up with one hand outstretched, reaching for something nameless. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He might spend the rest of the night sitting upright, kept awake by the restless energy in his veins, the sound of his own heart like a drum in his ears. Or he might find the place that’s almost peaceful, where he can fall into a restless, dreamless sleep. Either way, the slightest light through the blackout curtains would wake him. He could never sleep through the bittersweet sunrise.

The phantom pains were almost as bad. The wires in his head were tangled so badly, he ached where an arm hadn’t existed for months. The doctors said it’s normal, to be expected, but he felt like he must be going crazy each time he tried to scratch an itch that didn’t have an actual physical location on his body. He ended up taking scalding hot showers, hoping that the heat could numb out the invisible ache. 

Still, he told himself he could handle it. A lot of soldiers came back mentally and emotionally scarred, especially those that had lost a limb. He’s not got it as bad as some people— or at least, that’s what he told Sam, though Sam never agreed with him. It just took time, that’s what everyone else said He reminds himself that it could be much worse. Sam tells him he can worry about the “plight of the less fortunate” later - that he has to focus on dealing with his own shit before he can deal with anyone else’s. One foot in front of the other, step by step until he’d walked miles in the shoes that still don’t feel like his own. 

He only decided something had to change when the nightmares started making the leap from night to day. He’d pulled his hand away from the stump of his arm, expecting to see the blood come spurting out all over him, nearly passing out from the pain, only to realize that he was huddled in his bathtub. The endless cacophony of gunshots he heard was only in his head. 

Sam suggested more therapy, so he showed up to the support groups. Then there were the one-on-one appointments with his psychiatrist, psychologist, prosthetist, physical therapist. Enough appointments to make his head spin. It helped, maybe, but never quite enough. There were still too many nights he spent dissociating on the couch for him to consider himself healed.

 

* * *

Bucky’s mouth is dry. He swallows hard. “Right, must be.” He stares at Steve again. Fuck, the man is attractive. Is he dreaming this whole thing? Is he going to wake up in the bathtub again?

“Uh, kinda chilly in the hallway. Would you like to come in?”

It isn’t chilly in the hallway. It’s May, finally starting to warm up. (Okay, Barnes, time to pull it together.) “Yeah, thanks.”

“You can sit down if you’d like. Let me get the last of the paperwork.” Steve disappears in a door off to the right, and Bucky pulls in a relieved breath. The living room is sparsely furnished, spacious but comfortable. It was minimalist, even slightly Scandinavian. Bucky is admiring the modern art on the walls when Steve returns, a folder in his hand.

“I know it seems like a lot of paperwork, and it is, but it’s almost done. For you, at least.” Bucky wonders for a moment what kind of forms Steve would be filling out after he left, until a pen and clipboard are shoved at him. “This is the last of it, I swear.”

“Right, sure.” Bucky scribbles a poor replica of his signature on the form he barely even looks at. He hopes, prays, that he’ll soon regain the ability to speak with words of more than one syllable. “Got it.”

“Great!” Steve is still smiling at him. Bucky feels sure the grin is supposed to put him at ease, but it is having an almost counter effect. Bucky’s sweating, and his right hand is trembling slightly. He’s glad he disclosed his PTSD in earlier paperwork. If Steve hasn’t thought he was crazy before, he’ll surely realize it now. Apparently, his possibility of sudden onset panic attacks isn’t a dealbreaker. 

After a moment, Steve drops the smile and moves to sit opposite Bucky on the coffee table. 

“You said earlier that you’ve done this before. No offense intended, but you look a little nervous. If you need to change your earlier answers, I—”

“No. No, I wasn’t lying.” He can hear the spinning gears of his prosthetic arm, calibrating and recalibrating with his tiny twitches. “I’m just, yeah, a little nervous. I’ve been out of the game— the scene, I guess, a while.”

As quickly as Steve’s smile fades, it returns - seemingly more genuine than before. It isn’t in the wide arch of his lips, just the softening of his eyes. “That’s okay, that’s fine. I promise it’s okay if you’re a little freaked out. Just remember, nothing’s going to happen without your express consent, okay? And you remember your safewords?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, yes.”

“Good. Care to remind me what those are?”

Bucky has a feeling Steve hadn’t actually forgotten, but he relays them back anyway. “Green to go, yellow to slow down, red to stop. And Jersey, also for a full stop.”

“That’s perfect.” He isn’t expecting the warmth flooding in his stomach at the tiniest bit of praise, but there it is. “Is it okay if I touch you now?” Bucky manages a nod, and Steve slowly moves one hand from his own thigh to touch Bucky’s. It rests just above his knee, Steve’s thumb gently stroking back and forth. “Let’s just try to keep breathing for a bit.”

He’s still feeling slightly lightheaded, his chest almost bouncing with each shortly drawn breath, but the touch is reassuring. He focuses on it like a laser beam, and after a few quiet moments, he feels significantly calmer. This time, when he meets Steve’s eyes, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s gasping for air. Instead, he notices their glacial blue color, like melting ice.

“Better now?”

“Definitely.”

 

* * *

Usually, Natasha just listens. But today, Bucky explicitly requests her help. 

“It’s not traditional therapy.” Natasha stared at him over her black coffee, meeting his eyes with an earnestness he wasn’t used to from her. He forced himself to hold her gaze, even though he was sure she could see the discomfort on his face. “In fact, it would be bad advice for me to recommend it as any kind of treatment.”

“I get that, Nat. I really do.” He shook his head, pushed the fingers of his right hand through his hair. (He did that a lot. But it was backward. Sometimes he could remember the feeling of the silky strands against his left hand.) “I’m taking every fucking class, I’m in every support group. I’m not trying to stop seeing any of my doctors. I just need to let go for a little while.”

She still looked highly skeptical, and by the time she opened her mouth again, he had convinced himself she’d say no. But instead, she makes a small grumbling noise and pulls her phone out of her purse. In an instant, his phone vibrates with the alert of a text message. 

“I still think this might be a bad idea. But this guy, he’s the best out there. He’ll understand.” Bucky raised a single eyebrow. Natasha shrugged. “It might work. He only takes clients through referrals, so be sure to mention I sent you.”

He’d been best friends with Natasha for so long, he trusted her judgment implicitly. And since the first time he’d seen her in a custom made leather catsuit, he’d followed her fearlessly, headfirst, into the world of kink. It’d been fun in college. He definitely enjoyed getting a little roughed up by whatever bedmate he’d had at the time. He’d even scened with Natasha a few times, and in bigger groups. But it was just that—purely fun. 

Now, he was a little afraid. Afraid of how bad he wanted it. Even outside of sex, he craved the idea of giving himself over for a while, for pleasure or for pain, to be worshipped or humiliated. He wanted to be taken care of like he was made of something precious, and he wanted to feel used hard and thrown away. Mostly, he just wanted to stop holding the reins for a little while. No matter how terrifying it was, he could come up with no other way to come free from his own mind. 

 

* * *

“Good. You’re doing great.” The buzz of praise rushes through him again. He hasn’t realized before, but maybe he should’ve marked his praise kink with a star on all that paperwork. “You just keep focusing on breathing, and I’m going to talk at you for a bit, all right?” That is somewhat of an unexpected response, so Bucky does exactly as he’s told and focuses again on inhaling, exhaling, as he nods his agreement. “So I’ve been rewatching Cosmos, you know, the science doc series with Neil Degrasse Tyson? And he's explaining how comets come from an Oort cloud, which is basically a massive cloud of icy planetesimals. Those are like the—”

Steve keeps going, talking and rambling about cosmographics, until Bucky is fully relaxed. He is still staring dazedly into Steve’s eyes when he finally stops, with another of those heart-stopping smiles. “How are you doing, Buck?” 

Bucky melts and smiles back at Steve. He wonders if his happiness has ever been that contagious to anyone. He just wants to keep smiling back at Steve, wants them both to smile at each other for forever. It’s a good thing he already thinks of himself as insane, or he’d be sincerely worried by his own reaction to this man.

“M’good.”

“Swell.” Steve looks sincerely pleased with his answer. “Are you ready to get started?”

Started? Started. With a scene. What he’d come here for.

The anxiety rises again, but this time Bucky is prepared. He forces it back down, taking another slow, deep breath. His nod starts out hesitant but ends with some confidence.

“Use your words.” Steve’s voice is deeper, cut with the slightest bit of edge. Bucky hopes it isn’t exceedingly obvious how much that simple change has affected him. He gulps. 

“Yes, sir?” They haven’t discussed titles, but it feels right to Bucky. At Steve’s sudden grin, he feels flushed again. Clearly, he’s made the right choice.

“Mm, good boy.” Slowly, Steve leans back, his hand finally falling from Bucky’s thigh. He misses the touch. The praise is almost as good. Steve seems to notice his response as well. “You like being told you’re a good boy, don’t you?” Before he can answer, Steve moves his hand up towards Bucky’s face. He flinches at the sudden movement, and the blonde slows but doesn’t stop. He simply tucks Bucky’s hair back behind his ear, a gentle and intoxicating touch. The softest of moans slips from between his Bucky’s lips. He isn’t sure the question needs more of a further answer than that, but he decides better safe than sorry.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, I like telling you.” His eyes squint slightly as he thought, and then Bucky swears they light up as he comes to a decision. “And I think I’ve decided what I’d like to do with you tonight.” 

Bucky barely holds back a delirious groan. Before he can further question this decision, Steve moves from the coffee table to the other side of the couch. He takes Bucky’s wrist as he does, then gently but firmly pulls him closer. Bucky resists the urge to burrow up against his chest and purr like a kitten. 

“We're still going to take things slowly. But not too slowly. Come here.” Bucky practically jumps at the invitation. As he stands up and moves closer, Steve’s hands go from his wrist to his waist, settling on each side. He guides Bucky into place so that he is standing in front of him and then straddling Steve’s lap. 

At first, Bucky purposefully keeps his hands to himself. But each of Steve’s touches leave sparks of heat on Bucky’s skin, building up Bucky’s confidence. Once he is seated on Steve’s lap, Bucky places his hands on his shoulders to balance himself. The smile he receives in return makes him blush. 

“Good, you're doin’ great.” Steve's accent thickens, his voice dropping even lower. Bucky is fully hard in his jeans now, and aching to be touched. He stares down at Steve’s hands on his waist. He wants them lower, he is desperate to have them lower. Without his conscious direction, his hips circle up into the air. 

Steve follows his gaze and gives a small chuckle. “You want some help there, pal?”

Bucky tries not to blush again as he nods, and Steve's hands make quick work of his zipper. Then his hands are on his dick, and there is no possibility of Bucky holding back the moan this time. His head falls back with a broken off gasp. He can feel the calluses on Steve’s hand, his fingers long and warm around him. Through pure might of will, he keeps himself from grinding into Steve’s fist and ending the whole thing then and there. 

Instead, he blinks his eyes open again, searching for Steve’s. They are darker now than before, but there is a slight twist of his lips, the hint of a smirk, that is as light as a cloud. He chances a look down to find Steve’s sweatpants tented, and it drives him mad. Bucky licks his own lips, suddenly dry. 

“Doing okay?” Steve asks. Bucky gives a jerky nod. It is difficult to form thoughts with Steve’s hand on his dick. 

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” His momentary shame at forgetting his place is quickly replaced by the heat in his stomach brought about by saying the right words. He’d been in the army and said those words thousands of times. It’s still a natural reaction. But there is something absolutely heady about giving Steve sole control. He is giving up his will, the command of his own body, for someone else’s choice. He’s glad the responsibility is now Steve’s. 

“There ya go.” The rewarding smile is accompanied by Steve moving to rustle around in the drawer of the side table. He pulls out a packet of lube, tears it and spreads a generous amount over the hand still wrapped around Bucky’s cock. With that, he begins a slow, fluid movement with his wrist. Down against the base of his cock with a tight grip, then up to linger just beneath the head. Bucky is whimpering almost instantly. “God, you’re being so good for me. Just perfect.” 

 

* * *

The last time he'd taken himself in hand, things had gone rather poorly. After a few hours alone with his laptop, he should’ve been ready to pop off without a problem. 

But the visual aide didn't seem to be able to soothe the ache in his chest. His fingers tight around his cock, he stroked and stroked until he felt raw, harder than hell but still unable to come. Eventually he set the laptop to the side and closed his eyes, tried to concentrate on the feeling, but it was hardly enough. 

Bucky was grateful for a fully functional prosthetic, when he coated his metal fingers with lube and began to ease them inside. They left a cool feeling behind each touch, their temperature just a few digits lower than his body heat. He’d gotten used to the strange sensuality of it - the impersonal way his prosthetic felt almost like someone else. Sometimes the difference of it was just enough to get him off. 

But that night, he just felt tight, like all of his muscles had been pushed to the limit and back. He worked his fingers in and out one be one, building the right swirl in his core, until he was well and truly exhausted, his skin flushed and sweating. Each digit increased the pleasure, but he couldn't get any closer to climax. Eventually he relinquished, knowing that relief was just out of reach. 

 

* * *

He tilts his hips and spreads his legs wider. The praise pushes his head even further towards that perfect, drifty headspace. It is almost like the light headed feeling he gets just before he passes out, but without the fear or dizziness. This is just like reaching perfection. 

“Tell me when you get close. You know you’re not coming without permission, right?”

He hadn't known exactly, but this has confirmed his hunch. It just drives him further. It isn't his choice anymore. It is Steve’s. 

“Yes, sir.” He nods. Bucky squeezes his thighs together, draped as they are over Steve’s. He can already feel that tension in his stomach building, already so close to the edge. But when he tries to increase the tempo, his hips rising and falling just a bit faster, he is quickly cut short, as Steve’s hand falls from the head of his dick to squeeze at his balls. His grip is just slightly too hard to be pleasurable. A whimper rises from high in Bucky’s throat. 

“Ah-ah.” There is a correcting, almost patronizing tone in Steve’s voice when he shakes his head, finally releasing his hold on Bucky’s balls. Relaxing again, Bucky drops his head forward, falling onto Steve’s chest. For a moment, he is startled by how comfortable and forward he’s being, wondering if he’s overstepped the line, but he is quickly reassured as Steve’s free hand tangles up into his hair. His tee shirt smells like warm cotton and peppermint.

“You were doing so good, buddy. Don’t get ahead of yourself, yeah?” 

Bucky whines an answer, but quickly corrects himself at a pinch to the inside of his thigh. “Yes, sir.” His dick is still achingly hard, and he can feel the pre-come starting to drip at the brief pain. He wonders if Steve realizes how much he’s awakened the masochist inside of Bucky. 

His free hand keeps up the smooth stroking of his hair, and Steve holds Bucky’s head just against his shoulder, where he can bury himself against his neck. But instead of resuming the agonizingly slow hand job as Bucky has hoped, his other hand moves back to his ass. His fingers squeeze one cheek, then settle against his hips. His thumb traces over Bucky’s hipbone, and when Bucky rocks into the touch, Steve’s grip guides him forward and back. 

He’s grinding up against Steve’s abs, riding his thigh. The ridiculousness of it sends another flush to his cheeks, but he can't will himself to stop. He doesn't want to. He’s spreading lube and precome all over Steve’s sweats without a second thought. After only a few more moments of that accelerated tempo, he’s practically whimpering again. 

“God, that’s perfect. Keep going, c’mon.” With Steve’s encouragement, he presses even harder, faster. Steve’s hand works its way from his hips up to his waist, then higher and higher, and Bucky realizes Steve had certainly caught on to his masochistic tendencies when his fingers start to tweak at his nipple through his shirt. He soothes the sensitive nerves with his thumb, then pinches against. 

Bucky's breath hitches in his chest, and brazenly, he opens his mouth against Steve’s tee shirt, his collarbone. He bites down softly, feeling himself slipping closer and closer. 

“Fuck— ‘m close, so close.”

“Stop, now stop.” Without Steve’s hand holding him, grinding him to a halt right in the middle of his frantic thrusts, he would not have made it. He would’ve blown over the edge, screaming, flying…

Instead, he can only pant, squirm, whimper, beg. He almost cries, he’s so fucking desperate. But Steve is still holding his head, cradling him close in a way that’s almost soothing. If he isn't allowed to come, laying there was a damn good second choice. 

Until he realizes Steve is laughing. 

Dazed, Bucky sits up with an exaggerated pout. 

“I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” Steve apologizes, though he’s still smiling, bright as ever. “That was so mean, I know. I didn’t mention I’m a sadist, yes? But you did so well for me.”

Bucky continues to sulk but allows his head to be tucked forward again, his hair softly stroked. It’s only then that he remembered Steve’s cock, still hard underneath him. He slides his left hand between them and reaches for it, softly wrapping his fingers over the length in Steve’s sweatpants. Bigger than he’d expected, and he hadn't been expecting small. The other man groans at the touch, and Bucky can feel his muscles tightening underneath his fingers. 

“You’re handsy, aren’t you? I don’t believe I gave you permission to touch.” Bucky tries to withdraw, his practiced puppy eyes staring wide up at Steve. But Steve’s hand settles over his, and after a moment he shakes his head. He continues to look amused as he runs his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip, Bucky opening his mouth wide to try to suck his fingers inside.

“You have such a pretty mouth, don’t you? I think we ought to put that to better use.” Steve is watching carefully, as if expecting him to safeword, but Bucky only nods eagerly. Steve’s hand moves from where it’s been gently caressing his hair down to his shoulder, pushing him down. Bucky gets the hint and moves off of Steve’s legs to kneel on the floor beneath them. By the time he’s settled on his knees, Steve has his dick out and is stroking it slowly up and down.

Bucky slides his tongue over his lips, bites his teeth hard against them, knowing they’ll soon be pink and swollen. Steve’s hand is in his hair again, but this time with less gentle touching and more demanding control. Being manhandled makes Bucky’s mouth water even more. He’s already imagining what it would be like to be smashed into the wall by Steve, to be held down by his body weight on his bed. It doesn't matter where, he just wants Steve to fuck him so hard he forgets his own name.

Bucky’s practically on the edge again when he finally lowers his lips down to the head of Steve’s dick. He takes him in slowly, paying plenty of attention to each inch he swallows down. His flesh hand moves up to work Steve’s balls, inching fingers back along his perineum. He’s had plenty of practice giving blow jobs, but the pure girth of Steve is still a bit of a struggle to get down. 

It is worth it, however, when Steve finally starts to fall apart. He keeps his fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, guiding him carefully up and down his length, until his control begins to slip. His hips roll harder, and he moans under his breath. At the sound, Bucky peeks up through long eyelashes to Steve’s face. He wants to remember this look, later when he’s alone, when the darkness seems like it’s closing in, he would still have the dazed and somewhat adoring look in Steve’s eyes. 

Then Steve is rocking up off the couch into Bucky’s mouth, panting harder and harder. Bucky can't breathe when Steve began to fuck his throat in earnest. Every thrust feels like it is sliding deeper, making Bucky grateful for his nearly non-existent gag reflex. Though he isn't at all bothered by the thought of Steve holding him down, fucking his face until there are tears on his cheeks and he can’t help but gag against the dick in his mouth. 

Steve’s head tilts back, eyes drift closed. Bucky, feeling emboldened by all the praise and still more than a little turned on, takes a risk. He’s hand plenty of experience using his prosthetic on himself, of course, though not as much with partners. But he knows that little shock of the cool metal against warm skin, and how it's often just enough to send him directly into orgasm. So as he continues to swallow Steve’s cock and suck in a breath when he can, he eases his left hand just up and back. 

“Fuck, fuck!” At the first gentle touch of Bucky’s prosthetic finger against his rim, Steve is coming hard and fast. Bucky holds on as he deepthroats Steve, sucking him through each twitch. Bucky’s skin feels like it’s on fire, burning liquid heat in his veins. His own cock aches. Just the tiniest touch would be enough to get him off. Bucky swallows hard, focusing on the feeling of Steve’s cock still pulsing in his mouth, thinking about the ice melting blue of Steve’s eyes.

Bucky comes with a choked cry, spilling over his jeans as his hips jolt in the air. By the time he can properly think again, his mouth is empty. His head is in Steve’s lap, and his hair is being petted again. Bucky’s still luxuriating in the afterglow. It’s tooth-achingly sweet, and he’s fairly sure he could drift right off to sleep, still crouched on the floor. 

“... Mm, good boy. Sweet boy. I was right about that mouth, huh?” Steve’s voice is soft and grumbly, and Bucky has the feeling he’s maybe been talking to him for a bit while he was tuned out. It’s nice to listen to, the voice easing him back up to earth. Somehow, Bucky works his muscles into holding his head upright. 

“ ‘s good?”

“Very good.” Steve’s smile is a little like staring directly into the sun. 

“ ‘mkay.” Bucky puts his head back down with a happy sigh. This was a good idea. He’s a good boy.

“... So good, in fact, that it’s really a damn shame that you came without permission when you were clearly instructed not to.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Bucky’s chest, something like being dropped into quicksand, which is concerning, but not nearly as concerning as the fact that his dick twitches back to life. 

Daring to peek back up, he mumbles a quiet, “whoops?”

Steve doesn’t seem at all troubled and continues to beam down at him, still running his fingers over Bucky’s hair in the most mesmerizing way. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky slowly, eventually comes back to after slipping back into a post-orgasm haze. He’s wrapped in a soft, fluffy blanket and he’s been readjusted from his uncomfortable position on the floor. His head, however, is still tucked against Steve’s thighs, and there are fingers working a soothing massage into his neck and shoulders. 

He wonders just how long he’s been sitting there when he tries to move, and his knees creak slightly at the shift. He’s almost embarrassed that he actually dropped off from the rest of humanity for so long. It takes a significant amount of effort to finally force his eyes to focus on Steve’s again.

Somehow, the dom is still smiling down at him. He doesn’t look bored or restless, just amused. That releases the weight in Bucky’s chest that he’s done something wrong. Until he shimmies around to get into a better position and remembers that he’s— 

“Kinda sticky, huh?”

Bucky drops his head again. So, yeah, he’d come all over his clothes, which was pretty gross, and he’d come without asking permission. Disappointing. He’d had higher expectations for his own self-control, honestly, but he really hadn’t been prepared for the irresistible sexual tidal wave that was Steve. 

“Sorta,” he mumbles into Steve’s knee.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some sweatpants you can borrow to get home.” Bucky relaxes the slightest bit to realize he won’t have to catch an uber with come stains all over his jeans. “You aren’t the first to make that mistake, and you won’t be the last.”

This statement is, for reasons Bucky can’t quite comprehend, offensive. He narrows his eyes and sighs, catching Steve’s gaze again. Then he realizes rather quickly that he doesn’t like being compared to Steve’s other clients. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten that he was a client himself.

Before he can go too much farther with that depressing train of thought, Steve is patting his shoulders and shifting around. Bucky moves out of the way, still curled up on the floor, until Steve is standing in front of him. 

“Gimme your jeans and your shirt.” Bucky has no idea why this is necessary, but he clambers to his feet to strip down all the same. Being a bit presumptuous earlier, he’d never even bothered putting on underwear, which now leaves him stark naked in Steve’s living room. He’s being blatantly watched as he undresses, then hands over his clothes.  
Steve folds them with quick efficiency and lays them on the side table. “Look at that. You can do what you’re told.” 

Steve’s smile indicates he’s mostly teasing, but Bucky’s face drops into a glare. Apparently being perfectly obedient for the majority of the session with one teeny tiny mistake at the end just wasn’t good enough for Steve’s high standards. Bucky rolls his eyes. He must not hide it as well as he thought because Steve’s grin grows a mile wider. 

For a moment, he disappears behind a door just down the hall, and Bucky feels a shiver go down his spine. That must be his bedroom. Steve’s bedroom. That he sleeps in. The bedroom that Steve sleeps in. _Oh._

Before Bucky can consider it too much further (does he sleep naked? Bucky would sleep naked if he looked like Steve), he returns with a tee shirt and sweatpants. Bucky reaches for them, but Steve snatches them back before he can grab them. He’s still smirking a bit, and Bucky would crawl across broken glass just to stare into that self-assured smile. 

“Don't get so excited. We've still got time. Unless you're anxious to be out of here.” 

Bucky shakes his head so hard his hair swings into his face. There’s no place he’d rather be than here.

“Okay, good.” The confident look is still there, but Steve’s eyes darken a shade as he scans Bucky slowly up and down. Bucky has to fight the stay upright, to not hunch over and cover himself with his hands. He swallows hard against the lump growing in his throat. “Because I seem to remember you coming all over yourself, even after you were explicitly told not to. Were you being purposefully insubordinate, or can you just not control yourself?” 

Now Bucky really starts to clam up. He wiggles his toes into the carpet, feels his nose scrunch up in distaste. Not because he regrets it— it’s difficult to regret the best orgasm you’ve ever had— but the stern and condescending look on Steve’s face is incredibly effective.

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles, mostly to his feet. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”

Steve scoffs, and his eyebrows furrow. “That was the most pitiful apology I’ve ever heard.” He takes a few steps forward, puts his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder and pushes him down onto the couch. He keeps pushing, until Bucky is sprawling backwards, reclined lengthwise along the couch. Then Steve starts to climb up over him, settling himself just between Bucky’s thighs. He moves his hands down to Bucky’s waist, shifting him into just the position he wants. 

Steve is manhandling him making Bucky’s brain short circuit. His dick is suddenly very interested in the proceedings. He wonders if this is what an antelope feels like before it gets eaten by a lion. He’s never wanted to relate to an antelope before. 

“Lie back,” Steve instructs, and Bucky does, though his mind is racing. He’d been expecting Steve to spank him. Maybe that was just because he really, really hoped Steve would spank him. 

But Steve’s eyes have softened, crinkling up at the corners. His hands, just lightly calloused, are trailing up and down Bucky’s waist, from the bottom of his ribcage just to his hip bones. Up and down again in mesmerizing motions. Bucky almost thinks he could fall asleep to this, except all the touching has redirected his blood flow straight to his cock. He’s thickening up already. Surprising. He knows he’s been out for a few minutes, but apparently a pretty blonde professional dominant with strong hands can do wonders for his refractory period. Bucky raises his hips a bit, until Steve slows down.

“Settle down now. Be good for me.” 

Bucky melts back onto the couch and focuses on the sensation. Steve’s hands are going higher now, mapping out the landscape of his body. His shoulders, still loose from the massage earlier, over his neck and down his sternum, and then there are fingers on both of his nipples, pinching delicately. Bucky moans, has to fight to keep his hips pressed down into the seat the way he’s supposed to. But he’s trying to be good, he’ll be good forever if Steve will just keep touching him like this. 

Once his nipples are hard and pointed, Steve’s hands move back down. They trace over his back, smoothing possessively on his hips. Bucky’s eyes are open, trying to meet Steve’s, but everything’s glazed over. He gives half a whimper as Steve slides over his thighs, getting precariously close to his cock again. 

He’s back to half mast when Steve finally reaches for him, his balls cradled in one hand and the other wrapped firmly around his base. Steve rolls his balls in his hand, and Bucky doesn’t even realize his eyes have slipped closed until a cool liquid drips over the head and slides down his length. He bites back a moan. As Steve gathers up the lube and spreads it over him, he leans in slowly, until Bucky can feel the warmth of his tee shirt against his chest. His lips are at his neck, teeth grazing his ear, and now Bucky can hardly keep from pressing up against him, except for Steve’s reassurance.

“Doin’ so good. Look at that, getting hard for me again. Come on. You can do it.” 

He is hard, every brain cell focused on the feeling of Steve’s hand working slowly up and down his dick. He’s still sensitive from coming so recently, and the pressure shoots a spark down to his toes. Steve’s fingers are warm and tight, so fucking tight, and Bucky’s sure Steve is working up a bruise now, his teeth right at the joint of his neck and shoulder. There’s the faintest scent of sweat in the air, and Bucky clenches his fingers into the fabric of the couch below. 

“You gonna come for me again? Come on, Buck.” He almost pops off just at hearing Steve moan his name. He’s panting, aching. Bucky can’t believe he’s already on the edge again. He knows he’ll be sore tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “Come on, sweetheart. You were so eager the first time. You can do it again, can’t you?”

“Fuck, yeah. Yes, I can, please.” At least he remembers his manners this time, and it’s all he can do to get the words out without tipping over the edge. “Let me come, please.”

“Go ahead, baby. Do it. Come on.”

The pressure builds in his balls and then shoots through him. Steve’s hands keep up the tight grip, working him through the sensation as white fluid drips down onto his fingers. It’s just on the edge of painful, of too much sensation, and it takes a moment for Bucky’s brain to catch up. He jerks, sensitive, and blinks up.

Steve’s smiling down at him again, a glint sparkling in his eyes. A very dangerous glint. His hands continue moving over Bucky’s cock, now spent. Up and down, up and down.

“No, wait, fuck—” Bucky makes a noise that’s almost a growl, has to readjust his grip on the couch. He’s so sensitive and now it hurts. Too much pleasure becomes just too much. He tries to wiggle away, back from Steve’s grip around his cock, but his thighs are still held open by Steve’s. He can’t get the leverage to move away. And even though it’s torment now, he still can’t entirely convince himself he wants to. 

Whimpering, Bucky presses back against the couch. His hips lurch, caught up in the rhythmic movement of Steve’s hand. The one is still snug around him, the other holding his shoulder down as Bucky squirms. 

Steve is still staring down at him, and Bucky feels again like he’s about to be devoured. “You wanted to come so bad, baby.” Bucky would object to being called baby in that tone, if he could think of anything beyond the endless pleasure/pain between his legs. He’s soft now, but Steve keeps going. “You came without my permission. Maybe this will help you remember to ask nicely next time.” 

Bucky groans, tears filling his eyes. It takes longer than he’d hoped, but soon he’s getting hard again, unable to stop the blood flow to his dick even as it aches. Steve changes up his tempo, from slow and gentle to quick and forceful, until Bucky is twitching and squirming again. 

“Please, fucking hell, Steve, I’m—” He still can’t form a proper sentence beyond moaning Steve’s name and whimpering for him to stop. But Bucky knows, without even a shadow of a doubt, by the look in Steve’s eyes, he won’t stop until he’s good and ready. It doesn’t stop Bucky from begging one bit. 

The next orgasm—his third, he can’t even believe it— makes him scream. Steve keeps stroking him through it, until he feels raw and split open. His skin feels sunburned, hot to the touch and prickling with just the lightest sensation. Finally, Steve’s grip loosens and he slows down, until he’s barely touching Bucky’s tender cock, and Bucky gives a sigh of relief that’s close to being a sob. He drops his head back onto the couch with a thud. 

“There you go. Good boy.” Steve leans toward in toward Bucky again, this time softly brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. Bucky whimpers. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Hmm?” Steve raises an eyebrow, looking like he has no clue what Bucky’s trying to say, and it’s only because of the deep exhaustion in Bucky’s bones that he doesn’t roll his eyes again. 

“I’m sorry for coming without permission, sir.” 

“Ah. See, that sounds like a genuine apology.”

“It is.” His voice wavers, his body still trembling with the aftershocks. Steve’s eyes are light again, and it’s amazing how he manages to look so soft, when he’s still got a threatening hand around Bucky’s dick. 

“Aw, such a good boy for me.” Steve leans back, and he finally moves his hand from around Bucky. Only to reach for the lube and slather his hand in it. “Which is why you’re going to come screaming my name one more time, and then I’ll let you go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More porn at 5 o'clock on a Tuesday. Again, many thanks to [progressivelyaggressivecap](http://progressivelyaggressivecap.tumblr.com) on tumblr for being the best beta ever. I already have the next part started, so if you're interested in seeing more, give kudos, comment, and subscribe! You can also check out[this post](https://bicaptain.tumblr.com/post/187472948694/beardandbooty-okay-babes-lets-have-a-chat) on my tumblr to learn more.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in more, let me know in the comments, or at bicaptain on tumblr! I could be persuaded into a series (but only with your promised eternal adoration & devotion. Bucky's not the only one with a praise kink, ok?)


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